They slipped through the shadows of the city in silence. exchanging whispers and only when necessary. Jocelyn and Nelson drew scowls and hisses from the pirates as they stumbled over broken pavement. Valencia hung near the front of the scouting party, not in the lead by close by her rifle at the ready. The dozen of them gave the US Bank building a wide berth as they circled around to a ruined building across the southern entrance. Her experience on the caravans defending against raids, not conducting one, and she watched with interest as the pirates traded a spyglass between them and held hushed conversations about the Waltzers standing guard at the gate.
At last the lead pirate collapsed the spyglass and tucked it into his pocket. "We've to report to the captain. You can come along or hold this position. Shan't be long."
The others glanced at each other, uneasy and noncommittal Valencia thought about the racket they'd made on the journey south and spoke up. "I'll stay. I'm heading up to the second floor to get a good vantage point," she said. And with that she headed to the stairs, feeling her way along in the dark.
She found a broken window that provided a clear look at the building's entrance and set to work using rubble to build a blind. When the pirate host attacked it would be unlikely anyone would see the muzzle flash from the second story amid the confusion and even if this position was compromised, Valencia had scoped out a handful of exit routes. Inexplicably, her former cellmates had followed her up the stairs and took up space behind her, pacing and fidgeting to pass the time until the pirates returned.
As Valencia settled into a comfortable shooting position and practicing lining up Waltzer's in her sights, for the first time she felt a tinge of fear. If the raid went wrong---and there was no reason to think that it wouldn't---then her life could be in danger, real danger. She looked at her companions who would be charging into the fray. Would they survive the night? She found she couldn't push the thought from her mind as easily as she would have liked.
Working on the caravan trail had become all she had known. After her brother's death, she became withdrawn and mechanical in her duties of buying and selling and protecting the traders' wares with her gun. People in her life were merely gears that kept her moving, a perpetual motion machine cycling from Green Bay to Milwaukee to Madison, up through the Fox Cities and then back again. Contact with others only occurred in the context of a commercial transaction: a purchase, sale, or exchange. She deliberately cut off any emotional ties before they could become too tightly knotted and refused to let the problems of others pen her in. Plenty of folks had wanted to get closer to her, to be her friend. She had refused. After Enrique's death, she had closed herself off.
She had been trying to tell herself that it was revenge for him that brought her here, about to wage war on the city's most powerful faction, but that was a half-truth. What had gotten her in trouble was her stubborn insistence on being alone. Waltzers were bullies who picked easy targets, and in her own pride and ignorance she forgot that in this world you needed someone to watch your back. So the Waltzers beat her into the dust, confiscated her money and goods, and hauled her off to jail for no reason other than being stupid and alone. Not one of the merchants in the market stepped from their stalls to stop it. It would take a special kind of friend for someone to stand between the Waltzers and their work. But to take such a risk for a mere acquaintance? The merchants busied their hands and averted their eyes. An unfortunate incident to be sure, but not worth the trouble to intercede.
Valencia had a sudden memory of being a child with her father at a toy shop in Madison. The shopkeeper had collected all kinds of wonders from the old world and fashioned new ones of his own. He welcomed them into his store but hid any smile for Val beneath a bushy white mustache. He invited her to look through a pair of goggles connected to a steam-powered machine that he claimed ran on little girls' dreams---and two water tokens of course. Her father plugged the machine and it gasped into life, chugging and burping steam. Through the goggles Valencia watched in awe as zeppelins sailed overhead, trains rocketed through bustling cities, and jet planes screamed over jagged white-peaked mountains. All too soon the machine wheezed and stopped and the goggles went dark. The shopkeeper made a sad face and gently said, "Poor little girl, don't tell me you're all out of dreams?"
Decades later, she finally realized that his words had come true: she had run out of dreams. Instead of following the soaring promise of that wild contraption, she took the easier route and became the machine. A lifeless, soulless, coin-powered machine that would one day cease working and would be salvaged for parts and left to rust. And there would be no one left to mourn her.
Valencia shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, surprised at the tears that sprung at their corners. No sense going soft now. Not yet. This ordeal would turn the page on this long chapter of her life. With any luck she would extract her pound of flesh for Enrique's sake and, if the captain was true to his word, scavenge enough high quality items from the compound to be set up nicely for a good long while. When this was over she promised herself to sit back and figure out what it was she wanted to do with this thing they called the rest of her life. That thought scared her more than the impending battle.
But first things first, she reminded herself. She took a deep breath and went back to cycling through targets.
They slipped through the shadows of the city in silence. exchanging whispers and only when necessary. Jocelyn and Nelson drew scowls and hisses from the pirates as they stumbled over broken pavement. Valencia hung near the front of the scouting party, not in the lead by close by her rifle at the ready. The dozen of them gave the US Bank building a wide berth as they circled around to a ruined building across the southern entrance. Her experience on the caravans defending against raids, not conducting one, and she watched with interest as the pirates traded a spyglass between them and held hushed conversations about the Waltzers standing guard at the gate.
At last the lead pirate collapsed the spyglass and tucked it into his pocket. "We've to report to the captain. You can come along or hold this position. Shan't be long."
The others glanced at each other, uneasy and noncommittal Valencia thought about the racket they'd made on the journey south and spoke up. "I'll stay. I'm heading up to the second floor to get a good vantage point," she said. And with that she headed to the stairs, feeling her way along in the dark.
She found a broken window that provided a clear look at the building's entrance and set to work using rubble to build a blind. When the pirate host attacked it would be unlikely anyone would see the muzzle flash from the second story amid the confusion and even if this position was compromised, Valencia had scoped out a handful of exit routes. Inexplicably, her former cellmates had followed her up the stairs and took up space behind her, pacing and fidgeting to pass the time until the pirates returned.
As Valencia settled into a comfortable shooting position and practicing lining up Waltzer's in her sights, for the first time she felt a tinge of fear. If the raid went wrong---and there was no reason to think that it wouldn't---then her life could be in danger, real danger. She looked at her companions who would be charging into the fray. Would they survive the night? She found she couldn't push the thought from her mind as easily as she would have liked.
Working on the caravan trail had become all she had known. After her brother's death, she became withdrawn and mechanical in her duties of buying and selling and protecting the traders' wares with her gun. People in her life were merely gears that kept her moving, a perpetual motion machine cycling from Green Bay to Milwaukee to Madison, up through the Fox Cities and then back again. Contact with others only occurred in the context of a commercial transaction: a purchase, sale, or exchange. She deliberately cut off any emotional ties before they could become too tightly knotted and refused to let the problems of others pen her in. Plenty of folks had wanted to get closer to her, to be her friend. She had refused. After Enrique's death, she had closed herself off.
Valencia had a sudden memory of being a child with her father at a toy shop in Madison. The shopkeeper had collected all kinds of wonders from the old world and fashioned new ones of his own. He welcomed them into his store but hid any smile for Val beneath a bushy white mustache. He invited her to look through a pair of goggles connected to a steam-powered machine that he claimed ran on little girls' dreams---and two water tokens of course. Her father plugged the machine and it gasped into life, chugging and burping steam. Through the goggles Valencia watched in awe as zeppelins sailed overhead, trains rocketed through bustling cities, and jet planes screamed over jagged white-peaked mountains. All too soon the machine wheezed and stopped and the goggles went dark. The shopkeeper made a sad face and gently said, "Poor little girl, don't tell me you're all out of dreams?"
Decades later, she finally realized that his words had come true: she had run out of dreams. Instead of following the soaring promise of that wild contraption, she took the easier route and became the machine. A lifeless, soulless, coin-powered machine that would one day cease working and would be salvaged for parts and left to rust. And there would be no one left to mourn her.
Valencia shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, surprised at the tears that sprung at their corners. No sense going soft now. Not yet. This ordeal would turn the page on this long chapter of her life. With any luck she would extract her pound of flesh for Enrique's sake and, if the captain was true to his word, scavenge enough high quality items from the compound to be set up nicely for a good long while. When this was over she promised herself to sit back and figure out what it was she wanted to do with this thing they called the rest of her life. That thought scared her more than the impending battle.
But first things first, she reminded herself. She took a deep breath and went back to cycling through targets.